


Don't Worry, Baby

by DeanRH



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1960s, American History, Body Horror, Classic Cars, Creepy, Horror, Inspired by Stephen King, M/M, Psychological Horror, Street Racing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:55:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 18,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24925759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeanRH/pseuds/DeanRH
Summary: During the hottest Midwestern summer on record, Dean meets Castiel.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 77
Kudos: 51





	1. Demon's Run

The summer was hotter than anyone could remember, even the old-timers.

In Kansas, that meant tornadoes, or summer storms that made the lights flicker and go out.

People drowsed here and there, even in the big cities; it was not a time of hard working, industrious though the people were.

It was a relief when the dark clouds raced across the sky and rain poured down like manna from heaven.

But it had been a couple weeks since the last storm.

Most places were quiet -

but not the stretch of highway the locals called Demon's Run.

Loud laughter and rock n' roll music filled the air, as the guys and girls hung out by their cars, fiddling with the radio stations.

The rumble of engines filled the air.

A black monster of a car, up against the recent champion, a red '58 Plymouth Fury.

And they were off, taking the curves like they were meant for it.

The spectators cheered; the ones who loved cars were astounded, the ones who loved gossip used the distraction to sneak drinks from their whisky flasks and bum cigarettes from each other. 

"You ever seen an Impala take curves like that, Fish?" one guy in a leather jacket asked a girl sitting on a fence beside him in highwaters and a bandanna over her hair.

She sucked at her teeth and shook her head.

"Hell no," she said. "Damn things steer like cows. If you'da told me I was gonna be seein' this today I'da called you a liar."

"If I didn't see it with my own eyes," he agreed.

"Marlin, you got a ciggie-butt?" Fish asked. He nodded, eyes glued to the race, as he took out his pack and shook one into his hand. 

Fish took it gladly and he lit it for her.

"Shit!" she yelled, leaping off the fence, cigarette in hand, making Marlin nearly burn both her and himself on the lighter. "Shit, you guys, you seein' this?!"

Even the gossips had to turn their heads.

Because the Impala was heading straight toward them, in the definite lead, and crossed the finish line just before the Fury.

Everyone was on their feet and screaming, clapping -

The Fury came to a stop, both engines ticking down cooling.

The door to the Impala opened, and Dean Winchester stepped out.

He was immediately deluged by everyone, especially Marlin, who hugged him tightly and shouted his praise, while everyone else was bellowing their congratulations and how unbelievable this win had been.

Everyone, that is, except the quiet new guy who had been invited out because it was summer and what else were people going to do in a small town?

Castiel was seated on the ground, reading. He never even looked up from his book.

"Damn! I was tellin' Fish here that I'd never seen anything like it," Marlin was crowing. "What'd you do with it, make it take the curves so quick?"

"Nothin'," Dean said. "She's just that good."

"Pfft," Marlin said, waving it away.

"Yeah, Winchester, spill!" said Fish. "You can't hide those secrets from us forever!"

French Stillwater, the guy who drove the Fury, grinned and shook Dean's hand.

"Good race," he said, shaking his head. "No idea how you did it, but I gotta say, I ain't never seen a car like that take curves like that."

"Better believe it," said Dean, whose eyes had locked onto Castiel, although he did tell French, "Good race."

Dean ignored the celebration going on behind him and addressed the guy sitting on the ground.

"What's the matter?" asked Dean. "Don't like races?"

Castiel finally looked up and _wow._

Holy shit. 

Dean was transfixed.

_Blue, blue, blue_ , reflecting that Kansas summer sun like cornflowers, like other things Dean just could not remember at the moment because -

well. He'd just never seen another person with eyes so blue before.

"My apologies," said Castiel. "But it was a good part."

"A good part?" asked Dean, puzzled now.

Castiel lifted the book.

"Of the book?"

They stood there, staring at each other for a while, like animals from two different worlds discovering each other for the first time -

one from the sea, or the earth, and one from the air -

when all his friends surrounded Dean and started shouting about heading down to Dairy Queen for a celebratory ice cream, and the spell was broken.

Dean kept glancing over his shoulder at this strange young man, on a day where he knew that he'd won the admiration of everyone around him -

but Castiel, quiet and secret, seemed unfazed.

Dean smiled to himself.

A mystery he would need to solve.

Maybe it wouldn't be a bad summer after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you hadn't already noticed, I am definitely a car lover, which makes sense as I have been a drifter for most of my adult life. 
> 
> The 67 Chevrolet Impala is not a sports car. It's a family car and it was always shitty at taking corners. Much of what we see on this show is fantasy, but the idea that the Impala is 1. a sporty car that handled well, 2. a car you'd want to be driving long distances, just based on gas mileage and passenger comfort alone, or 3. useful turning corners in any way, or 4. capable of starting right away on a cold morning, or 5. cheap enough to run, given their lifestyle, is one of the most fantastical elements of the show. Don't get me wrong; it's a cool car, it's just not how the show portrays it. The only reason John might have purchased something like it is because the Impala, as previously stated, was for families. The Chevy sports car of that year was the Malibu SS (Super Sport, also called the Chevelle), or the Camaro as a pony car. All that said, if you really know what you're doing, cars of that era are readily fixable and were built to last, rather than what feels like planned obsolescence these days.
> 
> Additionally, I have mentioned this before, but "baby" is a pet name for cars. It's what all car-lovers call their cars, regardless of the car's actual name, just as you would call a romantic partner "baby" or "sweetheart" regardless of their given name. I've always believed that fans misunderstood this pet-name habit with regards to cars, and that this misunderstanding created a back-definition situation in which people assumed the car's given name was "Baby", so it became the name of the vehicle in the show. 
> 
> Most people who name their cars always refer to the car by its given name (Lucille, Christine, etc), so the fact that Dean doesn't call the Impala "Baby" as a proper name, only using the habitual "aw, baby" that people who love cars use until several seasons in makes me think that the Impala never had a proper name and this was a later addition to the show. EDIT: Case in point, when Dean is working on the car they believe might be Little Bastard, he calls it "baby" too. On a rewatch I paid attention to the way Dean talked about the Impala, and he doesn't refer to the car as if its *name* is Baby until after season five at least.
> 
> The red '58 Plymouth Fury is a reference to Christine.


	2. Dairy Queen

By the time they got to Dairy Queen, the clouds had rolled in.

"Think we're gonna see a storm?" Marlin asked, as he rolled out of his jalopy. 

"Nah, no way," said Fish. "We ain't gonna see the damn break in the sky for at least another week yet."

"How d'ya know that, Fish?" asked French, who had just got out of that beautiful '58 Fury.

"My girl's smart," said Marlin. "Gonna be a weathergirl on the Kansas City News, you watch."

"Aw, c'mon," said Fish, but she beamed. 

The other guys and girls pulled up and hopped out of their cars. Dean scanned the group but didn't see Castiel.

"Hey, where's the new guy?" he asked.

"The bookworm?" asked Babs, slamming the door of her '65 cherry-red Mustang with her hip. "Dunno if the guy's even got wheels."

She looked at Dean over her sunglasses and grinned around the sucker in her mouth.

Babs was hot. He couldn't deny it. She was tall and blonde with a body like a dollar sign, all tits and ass. She was wearing a short shirt that showed off her toned stomach and highwaters that looked like a second skin. From her wedge heels to the bandanna wrapped around her ponytail, body a sinuous curve against that gorgeous car, well. Dean's only human.

But then the penny dropped.

"What, did you guys _leave_ him out there?" he asked, incredulous. "To _walk_ here?"

Babs shrugged.

"You did the same thing, Winchester," she pointed out. 

"Yeah well I didn't know he - " Dean said, then lifted his hands in frustration. "I'll go get him. Jesus."

"Okay," said Babs. She paused. "You all right, Dean?"

Dean sighed. 

"Fine," he said. "Be back in ten."

"You want us to order for you?"

"Yeah, bacon double cheeseburger, hold the pickles," said Dean. "Pickles on cheeseburgers are a crime against humanity."

"You got it, stud," said Babs.

"And a chocolate shake!" Dean shouted, then muttered to himself as he got into the Impala and pulled out of the parking lot to go find Castiel.

***

He found him about a mile back, an impressive time for someone who was reading a book while walking along the highway.

Dean rolled down the window.

"Hey!" Dean shouted. Castiel looked up, startled. "Anybody ever tell you it's dangerous not to look where you're walkin'?"

Castiel stared at him.

"No."

"Well, c'mon and get in," said Dean.

Castiel did so, in motions so smooth and coordinated Dean wondered where a nerd like that would learn to move like water.

"Are we going?" asked Castiel, and now Dean was startled out of his own reverie.

He coughed, and headed down the highway again.

After a moment of relentless quiet, which Dean hated because he preferred everything noisy and talkative, Dean spoke.

"You were really gonna walk to Dairy Queen?" he asked.

"I don't have a car."

"Well, I mean - you coulda asked one of us for a ride!" said Dean. 

"No one offered."

"Look, you can't just let people - " said Dean, and then shook his head. "Anyway. It ain't too far."

Dean caught Castiel giving him a curious look in the mirror.

"Thank you for coming to get me, Dean," he said.

"No problem."

***

The scene at Dairy Queen was just about as raucous as Dean had expected. 

Instead of sitting inside, they opted for the outdoor area despite the heat. There was more room there, and his friends were a boisterous bunch.

"Hey, Dean found him!" Babs shouted, pointing a red-lacquered nail at Dean, who arrived with Castiel at his side.

"Hi," said Castiel. Everyone cheered.

"Don't be intimidated," murmured Dean. "They're loud, but they're really nice and mean well."

"Ain't you gonna introduce us to your friend?" asked Fish.

"He ain't - " Dean began, but then dropped it. He could see that look in Castiel's eyes, that wariness behind the blue, because he'd seen it in his own. "-a stranger to you, but all right."

"French Stillwater," Dean said, pointing out the driver of the Fury. French was an extraordinarily handsome, tall Black man with a debonair ladykiller smile. "Best dresser and best driver among us -"

"Best til today," teased Marlin, and French laughed good-naturedly while Fish gave Marlin a whack against the back of the head.

"Gladys Red Fish," Dean said, and waved in Fish's direction. Fish was Native American and white, with long black hair covered by her bandanna and pale skin. "But we usually call her Fish."

"You let you friends call you Fish?" asked Castiel. Fish grinned.

"Sure do," she said. "Dean started it when we were kids. Now they get a whack if they try callin' me Gladys. I mean, what would you do if your name was Gladys?"

Castiel inclined his head in acknowledgement.

"This is Marlin," Dean explained. "Fish's sweetheart."

Marlin was a skinny white guy in a leather jacket, facial features almost pretty in the way Dean's were, but a little more feminine due to his slenderness. 

Castiel's eyebrows went up.

"Fish and Marlin?" he asked.

Dean laughed.

"Oh, his real name is -"

"Dean!" protested Marlin.

"Hyman."

"Oh, I see."

"Yeah, Dean started callin' me Marlin a while back," said Marlin. "Not sure why, but it stuck. Thank God."

Castiel looked sidelong at Dean. 

"Seems like you give people nicknames a lot," he said.

"He does," said Marlin. "Be careful or he'll give one to you."

"Too late," said Dean. "Guys, this is Cas."

"Cas?" asked Castiel, but he smiled warmly.

"Yeah," said Dean. "Short n sweet. Like you."

Castiel shot him a look.

"I'm not short," he said.

"Shorter'n me," Dean said. "And this is Barbara Crane, Babs for short."

"Charmed, I'm sure," said Babs, holding out a hand. Castiel shook it. "And before you ask, Dean didn't give me this nickname. I'm my own woman."

"Says Babs, the independent nation that lets just about anyone plant a flag there," said Marlin.

"You shut your piehole, _Hyman._ "

"Hey!"

"Okay also there's Johnny Two-Trees," said Dean, waving in the direction of a big Native American guy with long hair who waved joyfully from a distance, "Peoria, usually called Pippi for obvious reasons, Keetin -"

A skinny redhead with freckles and a long braid who looked like she was all elbows waved in their direction.

"and Cheese di Grazia, who moved here from New York City last year."

A sharp-faced, good-looking Italian guy with a badass expression who was currently combing his hair waved in their direction.

"Why _Cheese_?" asked Castiel.

"Oh, everybody thought his family was mafia," explained Fish. "Then it turned out they had a Parmesan fortune, but they lost it all in the war."

"And by the way," French put in, "French is my real name, the one my mama gave me. Although I can say it also applies to certain skills I have."

He dropped a wink, and Babs squealed, shoving his shoulder.

"Okay, that's my introductions done," said Dean. "And I'm Dean Winchester, family in Kansas since the Dust Bowl or before. What about you, Cas?"

"Castiel Angelos."

"Wow, that's a hell of a name," said Johnny Two-Trees, who had decided to join the main group. "What is that, Greek?"

Castiel favored him with a soft smile.

"Something like that," he said.

"Welcome to Lawrence, Kansas," said Pippi, joining the crowd around the table.

"We're gonna have to get you a car!" said French, and they were off, discussing what kind of car Castiel should get, and the shouting and laughter resumed as they argued among themselves about the downfalls and positives of their personal favorites.

And in all this, Dean just watched Castiel.

He'd never met anyone like him in his life.


	3. Greece

"Brando," said Dean, as he drove, apropos of nothing.

"Pardon?" asked Castiel.

Dean had offered to drive him home, since he'd been the one to pick him up, after all. He had no idea how he'd gotten all the way out to Demon's Run without a car in the first place.

"I like your car," said Castiel. Dean grinned. If there was one way to win him over, it was complimenting the Impala.

"Baby?" Dean asked, and when Castiel gave him a puzzled look, he said, "That's her name. You know I like giving people nicknames."

Castiel had nodded, as if this was important information to be filed away for later.

Now, Dean was explaining yet another nickname he had given out. Strange, how they always seemed to stick.

"I call him that because his last name is Brando," Dean explained. "Marlin, I mean. An' he had a crush on Fish since like, sixth grade, so it started as a joke. But then they ended up dating, and - anyway. That's why."

Castiel frowned, considering this.

"That seems obvious enough," he said. "Why didn't he know the reason?"

Dean chuckled.

"Marlin's kinda - well. Not the brightest of us," Dean said. "That'd be Johnny. Scholarship to MIT and everything. Whiz kid. Drummer in a local band, believe it or not. Real rough stuff, rock n' roll. You know."

Dean was babbling and he knew it. There was no way he was letting this guy out of his sight without knowing he would see him again.

 _Why's that, Winchester?_ asked his internal voice, who was an asshole. _Got a crush?_

He ignored the hell out of it. Which was impossible since it was inside his own head, but he'd do his damnedest to try.

"So, where do you live?" asked Dean.

"You can drop me at Our Lady of the Sacrament," said Castiel.

"You live at the Catholic church?" asked Dean.

"Nearby," said Castiel, but then shut his mouth, and it was clear to Dean that he wasn't going to elaborate.

 _Hm,_ thought Dean. _Guess that's fair. He's new, and we weren't exactly welcoming, after all._

"So, uh," Dean said. "Just so you know, if you decide to hang out with us. Our group's not exactly popular."

"Oh?" asked Castiel. "Why's that?"

Dean gave him an incredulous glance.

"First off, car clubs or whatever?" he said. "Kinda went out of fashion in the late fifties, early sixties. We're a bit of a holdover. It's all about peace and love and antiwar protests now."

"I've been to antiwar protests," said Castiel. He smiled at some private joke he didn't bother letting Dean in on, and _oh, it's on, buddy - love me a good mystery._

"You a hippie, Cas?" asked Dean. This seemed to make Castiel smile even more.

"Something like that."

"Great," said Dean sourly. "Anyway, the group's kinda made up of outcasts and misfits, right?"

"It seems like the usual makeup of an American town to me," observed Castiel.

"Well, it kinda is," said Dean. "But there's the people who wanna believe that America is all the white middle class, and the rest of us Americans who don't fit that mold kinda get left behind. You know."

"And yet this group of yours seems more representative of America than a group of rich white men would be," said Castiel. 

"You're right about that."

"Then I think I will stay with your group," said Castiel.

"What's it like in Greece?" asked Dean abruptly. He never liked thinking too much about all the shit the car-club faced on so many different levels. Easier to just hang out and pretend they were the whole world.

Castiel gave him a strange look, then realization dawned.

"Oh," he said. "Arid."

"Huh," said Dean, and wondered what, exactly, Castiel was keeping a secret.

***

After Dean had dropped Castiel off at the church that first day, the two had become inseparable.

Dean went to races and meets, with Cas always there somewhere, standing from the sidelines with that curious head-tilt of his, just...

Watching.

Still, Castiel's unique brand of weirdness slotted right into the group as if he had always been there.

Everybody took their turn to shake him down, try to learn something about him, his origins, his background, anything. The girls teased him, the guys had heart-to-hearts, Cheese even tried getting into a hand-to-hand fight with him, which Castiel won readily.

But the more they tried, the more like an impenetrable fortress Castiel had become.

The things they had learned included the following:

1\. Castiel was intelligent and bookish, even more than Johnny.

2\. Castiel was strong, and a good fighter, even more than Cheese.

3\. Castiel was a hippie and believed in peace, making him the first flower-power member of the club.

And, of course, the one constant was

4\. He was absolutely _glued_ to Dean Winchester for reasons that none of them could really ascertain.

***

The summer wound onward like a river of maple syrup. Time seemed to slow down almost to a stop, when summers normally went by like the wind.

Days were pleasant, if too hot, and Dean found himself at the swimming hole with his friends more often than not. The summer was perfect, and seemed like it was forever, like it might go on for hundreds and hundreds of years. 

Dean remembered feeling like the summers passed too quickly. There was never enough time to do anything, to savor anything, to just lay back in the grass and look up at the clouds in the sky with his friends. Sure, some of them were in college by this point, and Johnny would head off to MIT in the fall. His own gawky little brother Sam looked up so much to Johnny, and it was a shame they wouldn't see each other again.

They were adults, but on that cusp of change, just before they wouldn't see each other again, possibly for a lifetime. The jerks in town that used to haze them and give them shit had gradually stopped over time, partly because they weren't in high school anymore, partly because many of them moved away.

Lawrence was a town to be _from_ , not a town to move to, for those with ambition. 

Not after college, anyway.

So Dean was content with the summer's strange forever-quality, as if something had carved out a space for them to enjoy to their heart's content, to really live in those moments with each other that would never come again. 

All the while, Dean learned more and more about Castiel.

The book he had been reading, _Stranger in a Strange Land_ , on their first meeting. Dean tried to get into it, but couldn't. So Castiel was brilliant, just like Johnny and Sammy. 

Castiel had tried to explain to Dean about saving whales, and trees. As a Kansas boy, Dean had little experience with either, but he wanted to understand Castiel, so he tried studying Sammy's Ranger Rick magazines to learn more about it. He was more puzzled than he had been before he started, but he wanted to get it through his own thick skull in order to impress Castiel.

Why he wanted to impress Castiel, he didn't really know.

But he wanted that secret smile for his own, that he had seen on Castiel's face before. Just a hint of it before it vanished.

He startled himself when he realized that what he wanted was to kiss it.

Dean studiously ignored whatever the hell that thought was and focused on the things he _could_ do instead.

When he tuned up the Impala with Johnny, and Sammy sitting on an overturned bucket so he could learn, Dean made sure Castiel was there.

When he went to shoot at cans for target practice, he made sure Castiel was there.

Curious, quiet, blue-eyed Castiel, who seemed to absorb the world around him, and said little.

The things he _did_ say, though -

"Dean, did you know that the constellation of Orion looks different from the other side?"

 _The other side of what?_ Dean wondered. _Maybe it's different in Greece?_

"Dean, the flowers are upset and want to know what they did wrong," Castiel told him, after the bushes were pruned.

"They didn't do anything," Dean told him. "They just needed to be cut back so they could grow better."

Castiel nodded seriously, and said, "I will tell them what you said."

Dean just shook his head at this weird guy who had shown up in his life and changed it completely.


	4. Don't Worry, Baby

A week into July, the phone at Dean's house rang.

"Hello?"

"There's something in my basement."

"French?" Dean asked.

"Yeah."

"You know, if you're gonna prank call me, you ain't supposed to tell me it's you," said Dean. " _Is your refrigerator running? Better go catch it,_ see? No identification, kinda the point of a prank call."

Dean grinned down the phone line, but if he'd expected French to laugh, he was sorely mistaken.

"This ain't no prank, Winchester, shut your piehole and listen, willya?"

"Sorry," said Dean, serious now. "What kinda thing?"

"Dunno," said French. "Honestly, I ain't wanna go down there to find out."

"Well how d'ya know it's there then?" asked Dean.

"It's just," said French. "I opened the door, and. Shadow."

"Did you turn on the light?" 

French didn't honor that with a response.

"I know what shadows look like," he said, his voice steady. "This is like - you know when you look at something and it's flat? Like, there's nothing there."

Dean felt a crawling sensation up his back.

"Kinda?" he ventured.

"Well, it's like that. Blacker 'n black, Winchester. Believe me."

"Say I do," Dean drawled out. "Why're you callin' me?"

"Cause you're the only asshole I thought might listen."

Dean let the _yeah, but why **me**? _remain still against his lips.

"Okay," said Dean. "You want me to come over?"

"Yeah," said French. "But later, we gotta meet everybody at the DQ first."

Dean hazarded a look out the window at the dark clouds that had been hanging over the sky for the last couple of weeks.

"You sure?" he asked. "Fish said the storm'd break right about now."

"I'm sure," said French.

"Swear to God, if you're messin' with me," said Dean.

"I swear I ain't," said French. "My place, around 7?"

"Sure," said Dean. "An' you don't want me tellin' anyone else?"

"Not yet," said French. "Not til we're sure."

"You gotta know how that sounds, right?" asked Dean.

"Believe me, I know," said French.

"Okay," said Dean. "Headin' out to the DQ now, see you there."

"See you," said French. "Thanks, Dean."

Dean put the handle of the phone back into the receiver. He was still at least ninety percent sure this was an elaborate prank, but there was something in French's voice that gave him pause.

***

As it turned out, the gang didn't stick around the Dairy Queen for long. One by one, they made their excuses, and made themselves scarce.

All but Dean and Cas, who stuck around for reasons of their own.

That storm, it was going to hit any minute now. Black clouds rolled in across the sky, fast as they always did over the Kansas prairies.

Dean stared at Castiel from where he was leaning against the wall of the Dairy Queen having a cigarette. Stupid, with the storm coming, but what could he say? He wanted an excuse to be alone with Castiel. The radio was playing music softly through the windows of the Impala.

And Castiel was stalking toward him with a strange light in his eyes.

"Cas?" said Dean, a little nervous now. 

Castiel was close. _Really_ close. Dean could see the facets of his eyes.

Those baby blues looked in the direction of the Impala.

The radio made a strangled sound, and then music started to play loudly.

Dean recognized it right away.

It was _Don't Worry, Baby_ by the Beach Boys.

_Did he just -_

thought Dean, who saw what looked like white bolts of lightning in the back of Castiel's eyes.

Or maybe it was just the reflection of the storm.

_Oh, it's been building up inside of me for,_

_oh, I don't know how long..._

Castiel's hand was on Dean's zipper. Castiel pulled down his jeans, just a little. Dean's bare ass against the white paint of the wall, smooth and rough.

"Cas?" Dean said again, but it was softer, and Dean had gone slack-jawed as he watched Castiel in one fluid motion get down on his knees.

The wind picked up, ruffling Dean's hair. 

He stared down at Castiel, who was giving him enough time for an out. A word. Anything.

Standing here on the precipice of something huge, Dean looked away, out to the empty parking lot, in fear that someone might find them. That someone might _know._

But nobody in their right mind would be out here in the storm.

Dean looked back at Castiel just as he took Dean's cock gently into his mouth and swallowed him down to the root.

Dean made an embarrassing sound and threw his head back against the wall, feeling Cas's hands gentling him as they palmed along his hips, the jut of his zipper, the incredible heat of Castiel's mouth, all the while the background music pouring into his ears as the Beach Boys sang and the thunder echoed across the plains.

_...but I can't back down now because I pushed the other guys too far_

_She makes me come alive_

_She makes me wanna drive_

_when she says_

_Don't worry, baby..._

Dean's hands clutched at Castiel's shoulders, bunching up his shirt, and he felt as if he were spinning out of control, as the first fat raindrops warm with the summer heat fell across his heated skin. Castiel was relentless, face and eyes upturned almost in penitence, and Dean thought he was beautiful, rain-streaked and blue, so blue, as if the sorrows of the heavens had come to land upon his perfect skin and found absolution there, as if Dean himself could find forgiveness, a safe harbor, from the storm that raged outside the two of them and inside his own heart.

Dean came with a roar down Castiel's hot throat. He stood there, bent halfway over and panting, unwilling to let go. 

_Oh, what she does to me_

_when she makes love to me, and she says_

_don't worry, baby..._

Somehow, this was the best sex he had ever had, and also as poignant and meaningful as any romance he had undertaken, all which seemed light and meaningless in comparison.

Lighting struck the ground near to them, Dean felt the static of it and the slam of lighting into the earth.

"We, uh," said Dean, when he could make his mouth form words again. "We better get going."

Castiel pulled off him, cleaning him with his tongue as he went, and Dean made another embarrassing sound. He tucked Dean in and zipped him up, then got to his feet. 

Dean expected him to wipe his mouth. But Castiel just licked his lips and gave him a lazy stare, like a cat. The delicious shudder of desire that made its way up Dean's back nearly took him out, but instead of facing it head-on, he hurried to the Impala and wrenched open the door with a little more force than necessary.

"Well, c'mon," said Dean. "Get in, you're gonna get soaked or hit by lightning."

For some reason this made Castiel's mouth form something like a grin.

But he got in the car, and the Impala peeled out of the Dairy Queen parking lot just as the sky opened in earnest.

The radio was playing softly again, the Beach Boys nowhere to be found.

***

"Damn it."

The rain was really hammering at the windshield now, and Dean had slowed to a crawl on the highway. The wipers couldn't go fast enough to clear the glass, and visibility was just about nil.

"I don't think it's safe to continue," Castiel suggested.

"Yeah, I see that," said Dean, clipping off the _genius_ he wanted to say. The time for friendly banter was over. Or at least too awkward right now. But he didn't want to pull over. He didn't want to be alone with Castiel.

Or rather, he wanted nothing more. But he didn't want to face this huge thing, this - 

It wasn't safe, it wasn't safe for either of them. Dean knew that. He'd heard things, about what happened to guys like them. 

But he couldn't deny there was something strange about Castiel.

Something mysterious, maybe dangerous.

And that was a problem, because Dean wanted it all the more.


	5. The Basement

The only sound in the car was the speed-squeak of the windshield wipers as the rain turned the world around the car into a blurred green.

"So," said Dean, just to say something. After that. Anything. "Uh."

Castiel turned those electric blue eyes on him and just waited.

"I gotta go see French," Dean blurted. "We were supposed to hang out tonight."

"I'll go with you," Castiel offered serenely.

Dean was just about to agree, because anything was better than facing down what had just happened between them, when a klaxon sounded in his mind _French said come alone and don't tell anybody! You show up with the weirdo new guy he'll kill you!_

"It's, uh, more of a private thing, buddy," said Dean, hating how it sounded like he was shutting Castiel out. "But tomorrow -"

"Then tomorrow," Castiel agreed. 

Dean tried to turn away, he really did. But his gaze got caught on Castiel, like always.

"God _damn_ it," he said, and surged forward to taste those lips.

Soft, and sweet, kissing him back with all the fervor of the storm, a storm that could hold him.

Dean made a desperate little noise against Castiel's lips, and Castiel grinned against him as they kissed.

"You know this is dangerous, right?" Dean said against his lips. "Maybe in - in Greece, it's okay, I hear they're different in Europe -"

"Dean," said Castiel.

"Yeah?" he asked.

"Shut up."

Dean chuckled in the back of his throat, and gave himself over to the moment.

***

The storm passed overhead about a half-hour later. 

Dean had plenty of images in his head now to last him some time.

He guided the Impala back onto the highway, still shaking with desire and the little aftershocks of what had already happened.

This guy was gonna drive him _crazy._

"Where can I drop you?" asked Dean.

"Church, please," said Castiel, demure against the passenger side door as if he hadn't just changed Dean's world.

"Okay," said Dean in a husked-out voice, and did so without question.

As he turned the car toward French's house, Dean wondered how this guy had gotten into him so deep after knowing him only a short time.

***

All thoughts of Castiel flew out of his mind when Dean arrived at French's, a little red Craftsman house with a small porch and flowers in the windows.

"Finally, Winchester, where the hell you been?" asked French.

"What, you didn't see the storm?"

"What storm?"

They gave each other puzzled stares. Dean wasn't about to argue, especially given who he'd been with and what they'd been doing.

"Must've been localized," he said, waving it away.

"Yeah. We still ain't seen blue sky, an' I think Fish got her timing wrong," said French. "We could use the rain."

"Okay, so," said Dean. "I didn't tell anybody, and I'm here. So what did you want to show me?"

French motioned toward the basement door.

"Look," he said, opening it. He pulled the string for the light. "You watchin'?"

Dean nodded. "I'm watchin'."

French reached out again and pulled the string. The light went out.

Dean cast a sideways glance at him.

"What - "

"Just wait a second."

Dean waited. He stared long enough that he had to blink back the weird lightshow from his own eyes.

But then he saw it.

Creeping, and crawling -

not along anything in the background, crawling across the _darkness itself -_

was something blacker still, a matte-black that the eyes refused. 

"See?" whispered French. "Ain't nobody gone down there since."

"Okay," said Dean. He turned away from the door, because looking at it too long made him uncomfortable. "What do you want to do about it?"

"I don't know?" said French, closing the door. "Exorcise it? Something. It's gotta be a, a, ghost or something bad, right?"

Dean nodded.

"Maybe."

Then he looked at French.

"You never did tell me," said Dean. "Why me?"

French held his gaze.

"'Cause of what happened to your mom," French said.

Dean stared at him.

He didn't think anybody remembered.

***

_Dean was four years old._

_His house was burning._

_His baby brother was in his arms._

***

_Dean is 14 years old._

_Someone lights a firecracker in school as a joke._

_Dean is four years old._

_His house is burning._

_His baby brother is in his arms._

_Dean's math teacher is staring into his face, shaking his shoulders._

_Dean's throat is sore from screaming. His face is wet with tears._

_***_

_Dean is 21 years old._

_The car club's had its first victory._

_One of the guys' old rat-rods has an engine fire._

_Dean is four years old._

_His house is burning._

_His baby brother is in his arms._

_Johnny Two-trees is squeezing him in a bear hug that makes him breathless._

_His voice is older, more tired now._

_On his cheek, he brushes away a single tear._

***

"Well, Winchester. It ain't like it wasn't obvious."

***

Dean takes a deep breath and blows it out.

"Okay," he said. "Okay. So, yeah. Something weird happened to my mom back then. But nobody ever told me anything about it. I don't think I've got anything useful here, French. Maybe we should ask the rest of the gang."

"What the hell are they gonna do about it?" asked French.

"I dunno, French, what d'you want _me_ to do about it?" asked Dean.

French seemed to deflate a little.

"I don't know," he said honestly. "I guess I just thought you'd. Y'know. Because of what happened."

"I still don't _know_ what happened," said Dean. "And I got no clue on this one either."

French sat down at the kitchen table. Dean followed suit.

"You racin' tomorrow?" he asked.

"Yeah," said Dean. "Not sure what's gonna happen though. Out-of-towners, I hear."

"Better you 'n me," said French.

"Aw, c'mon. Don't be jealous," said Dean.

"I ain't," said French. "You never know what out-of-towners are gonna be like and I ain't interested in dealin' with that crap. I get enough crap around here already."

"Tomorrow - " Dean began, and then realized suddenly that he'd pretty much invited Castiel along. 

Castiel was going to watch him race, and this time, not just against his buddies.

He rubbed his face.

He looked at the door to French's basement, where the inky, matte-black darkness waited.

He thought of the mystery from his childhood that had never been solved.

"Everything okay, Dean?" asked French. Dean nodded.

"Just got a lot on my plate," said Dean. "That's all."


	6. Questions

"Uh uh," said French, shaking a finger in Dean's face. "You know the rules. Spill."

"This kinda thing ain't car-club secrets, French!" said Dean.

"What kinda thing is it, then?" French asked, his eyes narrowing.

Dean sighed and rubbed his hand across his face, thinking.

"You swear never to tell a living soul."

"What about dead ones?"

"What?"

"You said- "

"I know what I said, man, I'm - "

Dean collapsed into a kitchen chair hard enough to break it.

"Whoa," said French, pulling up another chair. "Watch the merchandise."

"Sorry," said Dean.

"Somethin's eatin' you, Winchester. Secrets are better shared."

"Are they?" asked Dean. French just gave him a look. "All right, all right. You know the new guy?"

"Yeah," said French. "Cas. You guys been hangin' out a lot these last few weeks."

Dean nodded, and then he confessed everything to French.

When he finished talking to his own hands, he chanced a look up at his friend.

French was staring at him with round eyes.

Then he whistled.

"Man, you are in for it now," said French. "You know what the lowlifes around here will do to guys who -"

"I know, I know," said Dean, putting his face in his hands for a moment.

Then he looked up.

"Wait a second," he said. "That storm. You said it didn't rain?"

French shook his head.

"Not here."

"Maybe..." Dean drawled. "What if he's a part of it?"

"What, the basement thing?" asked French.

"Well, think about it. He shows up outta nowhere at the end of the term and all of a sudden there's freak rainstorms and weird stuff in your basement?"

French gave him a doubtful look.

"I think you just want to have any reason not to believe you're gone on this guy," said French.

"It can't be a coincidence."

"Sure it can," French told him. "Anyway, I think we should get someone else involved, at least. What about Fish? She's into all that meteorology crap."

"Huh," said Dean. "Yeah, that's a good idea. Don't know if she's gonna care or not. She's a gearhead, not really into the hocus-pocus stuff."

"You think I am?" asked French. "I didn't ask for this weirdness. Neither did you."

"You got that right," Dean agreed. He picked up the phone and called Fish.

She answered on the third ring.

"Hey, Winchester," she greeted him. "How's it going?"

"Me an' French need your opinion on something," said Dean. "It's hush-hush, okay? Don't tell anybody."

"Be there in five."

***

"Fish, I said don't bring anybody!"

Marlin gave Dean a sheepish shrug. Fish took her cigarette out of her mouth and pointed at Dean with it.

"You think I'm gonna show up at this house alone with two dudes who tell me it's _hush-hush_?" she demanded. "How dumb d'ya think I am?"

"Jeez, Fish, not everybody wants to get in your pants," said French.

"You can never tell," said Fish. "So what did you guys want?"

Dean and French filled both her and Marlin in on the events so far. 

Fish sat on the table, thinking. Dean could tell, because she was smoking like a chimney.

But it was Marlin who finally spoke.

"I think," said Marlin slowly, "I know what's going on."

***

"So you guys know I'm from Mississippi, yeah?"

"No," said Dean. 

"What, I never told you?" he asked.

"Where's the accent?" French pointed out.

"I was just a kid," Marlin explained. "You think someone named _Hyman Brando_ was born in the Midwest? Anyway."

He took a deep breath.

"There's this, I dunno, myth or whatever," he said, "that _evil is like kudzu._ That shit is _everywhere_ in the South. Then this one time - I heard about it on the radio, I think. This couple went missing. An' all they found was, like...people-shaped kudzu on the side of the road."

"That ain't proof of nothin'," said French.

"Thing was," Marlin continued, "it happened again, and again. People, kids. Disappeared here and there, and they'd always find this suspiciously-shaped kudzu."

"Didn't they cut into it?" asked Dean. "You know. To check?"

"Sure did," said Marlin.

"And?"

Marlin shrugged his shoulders.

"Nothin'," he said. "Just more kudzu."

"Like I said," said Marlin. "That ain't proof."

"You know," said Fish, startling everyone, "maybe you're onto something there. Kudzu's like, an invasive species."

"You tellin' me I got a - a _mold_ problem from outer space?" asked French.

"Not from outer space," said Fish. "But maybe - can I see it?"

"Sure," said French, and repeated the same sequence of events with the light as before.

The light went out. The blackness spread.

"Hmm," said Fish, and went back to sitting and smoking.

French closed the door.

"Say you weirdos are right, and I got some kinda infestation," said French. "What the hell do I do about it? Get some weedkiller down at the Piggly Wiggly?"

There was a knock at the door.

They all looked at the front door of French's place.

Then they realized that the knock was not coming from there.

Slowly, they all turned towards the basement.

" _Don't_ answer that," snapped Dean.

***

"This is nuts," said French. "You guys are tryin' to tell me I got some _Colour Out of Space_ problem or the - the - _War of the Worlds_."

"You read Lovecraft and Wells?" asked Marlin. French gave him a dirty look.

"I ain't gotta devote every second of my life to cars," he said. "I aim to be well-read."

"It's just that Lovecraft was like, _insanely_ racist."

"If I never read a book by a racist man again I'd have nothin' left to read," French said. "Knowin' these books is important, if you wanna get ahead in life, Marlin. There's a lotta social status in knowin' what they know."

"Okay," announced Fish, jumping off the table. "I think I know what we gotta do."

"What's that?" asked Dean.

"We gotta call Babs," she said.

They all stared at her.

"What the hell for?" asked Dean. Fish rolled her eyes.

"You guys," she said in disapproval. "All you see are tits n' ass, huh."

She clucked her tongue.

Dean shrugged expansively, spreading his arms.

"Guilty as charged," he said, with a mischievous grin.

French gave him a hard side-eye for that, and Dean's smile faded.

"Illuminate us," said Marlin.

Fish gave a long-suffering sigh.

"Because Babs is a witch, dingus," she said, rolling her eyes.


	7. Visitors

Babs showed up ten minutes later in a miniskirt and heels, wearing heart-shaped sunglasses and chewing gum behind bright-red lips. She was holding a little bag in one hand.

"Hear ya got a problem, French," said Babs.

"Never woulda guessed it of you, Babs," French said. Babs shrugged and shouldered her way inside.

"Some a you boys ain't got the sense God gave a weasel," said Babs.

"Ain't that the truth," said Fish. "Thanks for coming."

"Anything for French," said Babs, dropping a wink over her sunglasses. "He's still the smartest a you boys, you know."

"It's reading all those books," said Marlin, as if a light had been revealed to him.

"Told ya," said French, elbowing Marlin.

Fish opened the door and they repeated the procedure with the light. Babs frowned as the darkness spread and overlaid the shadows. 

"Hm," she said, rummaging around in her bag.

Dean leaned over to French.

"You think she's gonna find anything?" he asked.

"Search me," said French.

"Say, French," said Babs. "You didn't go down there at all, did you?"

"Hell no," said French. "Do I look stupid?"

"Good," said Babs. "You don't wanna get any on you. That goes for all of you."

"Do you know what it is?" asked Fish.

"No. But I know what it isn't," said Babs.

"What's that?"

"Safe."

***

There was a knock at the door.

Everyone looked at each other, and then at the basement.

"That's the front door," said French, and everyone gave a collective sigh of relief as he went to answer it.

"Uh, Dean?" French called from the front room.

"Yeah?"

"You wanna come here a sec?"

Puzzled, Dean stood up and went to the front door, not understanding why French was giving him such a strange look.

And there on French's stoop stood Castiel, looking every inch the stormcloud they had left behind.

"Cas?" hazarded Dean.

"I told you not to tell anybody!" hissed French. "And you tell the new guy?! I mean, I know you guys are - uh, _close_ , but -"

"Dean told me nothing," said Castiel. "I am here because something is wrong."

"Says who?" demanded French.

"Says me," Castiel returned. "May I come in?"

"Sorry, I don't even know you," said French. Dean gave him an incredulous look and took him aside.

"What're you doing?" asked Dean.

"It's suspicious as all hell!" French hissed. "One - he's new in town, none of us know him, not _really,_ and two, all this starts up after he - _you know._ "

"That doesn't mean anything and you know it!"

Castiel voiced a deep, long-suffering sigh and looked beyond the two of them.

"I see the others are here," he said. Dean turned to see them all crowding at the entrance to the kitchen, trying to get a good look at the situation.

"Will you get outta here?" Dean said to them.

Then Castiel walked through the door.

"Hey!" French shouted, "I said -"

"I don't have time for this," Castiel said, and stalked toward the kitchen. 

Dean's jaw dropped as everyone else parted for Castiel. He saw that even Babs and Fish scooted out of the way.

Castiel wrenched the door open and peered into the basement with a deep frown.

"Everyone out," he ordered.

"This is _my house_ ," said French.

Castiel gave him a look that made Dean shiver.

"And if you want it to stay your house, you'll do as I say," said Castiel. "You are putting yourself and your friends in grave danger. So my advice is to choose another house for now and all of you stay inside it."

"What for?" asked Fish.

"Because I said so, that's why," said Castiel.

Dean approached him and said gently:

"Buddy, this ain't gonna put these people on your good side, so even if you know what's going on -"

"I am here to save lives, not make friends," Castiel intoned. "So unless you have a suggestion, get out of my way."

Dean stood back, shocked and hurt.

"And just what makes you the boss around here, exactly?"

Castiel's patience had apparently been worn thin, because he turned his gimlet gaze on all of them and said:

"I am an angel of the Lord."

The silence that washed through the kitchen after that announcement was palpable.

"Now get these people out of here."

***

Dean shepherded everyone outside and told them to go find Sammy, his younger brother, and tell him what was going on. He'd understand, on account of what happened to their mother.

"Cas said don't separate," Dean told them. 

"Yeah, why we gotta listen to him?" complained Marlin.

"He's an angel," Babs said.

"Says you."

"Look, I'll talk to him," said Dean, well-aware he was going to be paying for this some way or another. "For now, will you guys just head over to my place and talk to Sammy. Please?"

"Fine," said French. "Only on account of, you know. Everything."

Then he pointed at Dean.

"But there's gonna be a reckoning coming."

"Yeah, yeah," said Dean. "Now scram."

They did, jostling each other and casting looks over their shoulders.

Dean squared his own, and went back inside.

***

He found Castiel where he had left him, staring down into the basement with a frown.

"What are you still doing here?" Castiel rasped. "I thought I told you to go."

"Yeah, well, I ain't leavin', so suck it up," said Dean. "You ain't gotta talk to my friends like that. Hell, they might even be _your_ friends, given time."

"I don't need friends," said Castiel.

"The hell you don't," said Dean. "What's this business about bein' an angel? You nuts or somethin'?"

Castiel gave him a wearied look.

The place went strangely quiet and then very bright.

Enormous wings unfolded in shadows behind Castiel's back, against French's kitchen wall.

"This is your problem, Dean," said Castiel. "You have no faith."

When Dean finally unstuck his tongue from the roof of his mouth, all he could say was:

"Am I gonna go to hell because of what we did?"

Castiel stared at him. Then there was a merry look in his eyes that made Dean narrow his own.

"No," said Castiel. 

"Those storms," Dean said. "Was that you? Were you trying to keep me from getting to French's?"

Now Castiel had the audacity to look embarrassed.

"Those were," he sighed, "when angels feel out of control, sometimes they can cause disturbances in the weather."

Dean blinked.

"So you're telling me that was like, what? An angelic hard-on?" he asked.

Castiel turned back to study the darkness beyond the basement door.

"Something like that," he said. "Can we discuss this later? We have something important to deal with here."

"Fine," said Dean, somewhat amused. "So what is it? Do you know?"

Castiel nodded gravely.

"It is a kind of fungus," he said.

"Marlin said it reminded him of kudzu."

Castiel considered this for a while and said:

"That was a very clever deduction. It is something like that, yes."

"So what's it doing in French's basement?"

"The way this creature works is to attract a large number of prey and then overtake it," said Castiel. "If it could get all of you at once, that would have been ideal. I don't think it counted on my presence. Human curiosity is such that these creatures can feed readily and they are voracious, working like a magnet from one to another until they are gorged."

"So the plan was to get the whole gang," said Dean, and Castiel nodded.

"But why?" asked Dean. "Why us?"

"That is what I am here to find out."

"So you didn't come here just for me."

Castiel regarded him seriously.

"No," he said. "I did not. You...were quite unexpected, Dean Winchester."

"What does that mean?" asked Dean.

"Time to go," said Castiel, pointing at the open door. 

"Why?"

"It's growing."


	8. Host and Vessel

The air was hot and muggy, close as a blanket, as Dean drove down the highway with Castiel in the passenger seat of the Impala. The gray skies stubbornly refused to open up and rain.

"How far to your house?"

"Not far."

"Then pull over."

Dean did as he was told and found himself with an armful of horny angel.

"Jeez, man," said Dean, "you in heat or somethin'?"

"Something like that," said Castiel, very seriously, and kissed him hard.

Dean wondered if it was because Castiel was an angel that he so readily melted back against the window, letting him pull the shirt from his body, eagerly pressing their chests together. Dean whined at the contact, and Castiel's kisses, as they moved together in a desperate ache of sweet, sweat-slicked skin.

"Hey," Dean mumbled against Castiel's lips. "Ain't we supposed to be doin' somethin'?"

And Dean cursed his own sense of responsibility as Castiel's heat suddenly pulled away from him, leaving him panting, and nodded sharply.

"You are right," agreed Castiel. "This can wait. Drive."

"This can - " Dean started, but Castiel had already fetched his shirt from the floor of the Impala and was sitting impassively. Dean sighed and grabbed his own shirt, pulling the car back onto the highway in a spray of gravel and trying to think of unsexy things as they roared down the road toward Dean's house.

***

"Damn, French, I thought you didn't want people to know, and now you've invited the whole damned town?"

"It ain't the whole town and you know it, Winchester. It's just the gang. So can it."

"The gang's all here," said Dean faintly, shaking his head.

Sure enough, there was Pippi and Cheese and Sammy, all gawky giraffe and tallest even though he was the youngest. He was eating pizza with Babs and Fish like he had no cares in the world.

"And you guys told them?" asked Dean. "About what's going on?"

"Far as we know it," said French.

"And what, you decided to have a - a slumber party?" asked Dean, incredulous.

"You wanna tell me what took you two so long gettin' over here?" French returned. "That's what I thought. And yeah, I told 'em. But they said they wanted to be here."

"Yeah, Dean," Pippi put in. "If we're gonna be eaten by a creature from outer space, we're gonna do it _together._ "

"Thanks for the solidarity," muttered Dean. "Sammy? You too?"

"Well yeah," said Sammy. "Best thing that's happened here in years."

"Sam, this ain't some kinda game," said Dean. "It could be dangerous."

Sam gave him a very familiar, stubborn look.

"And I'm staying," he said. "I'm not gonna let my big brother get eaten by a space creature."

Then he grinned at Castiel.

"Is this the angel?" he asked, excited. Castiel gave him a strange look. Sam stuck out his hand, and after a while, Castiel shook it.

Dean knew that look on his brother. He was starstruck, over the moon. 

Castiel went up in Dean's estimation. The fact that he was apparently now dating an angel would have to be examined later, when the danger had passed.

If Castiel stayed.

Dean shook his head to free it of those thoughts and spoke, as he always did, when he wanted to avoid the way things talked inside his head:

"We got a race tomorrow, you guys. This ain't no night for a party."

"Screw the out-of-towners," said Cheese. "We got a bona-fide emergency on our hands here."

"We can't cancel now," reasoned Marlin. "It's too late. Dean's Impala against whatever they got."

_Something's wrong in you._

Dean looked up. He'd heard the words as clearly as if they had been spoken in his ear.

He glanced around sharply.

Pippi and Babs were deep in conversation. Cheese was showing Marlin some new magic trick he'd learned, as Fish looked on. Sammy and Cas were talking about some nerd thing while French and Johnny Two-trees were discussing ways that he could get the most out of the Fury's engine.

Nobody was looking at Dean.

_They're going to die. One by one._

_It's **you,** Dean. It's in **you.**_

Dean cast around himself, looking for the source of the voice.

_I **am** you._

_Stop looking around._

Dean froze.

_You gonna sound the alarm? Tell them you're the enemy? How do you think kid brother's gonna react to that?_

_What about your angel?_

_If you thought you were unworthy of an angel before, how 'bout now? Hmmm?_

Dean watched Castiel and Sam laughing together.

**_I'll fight you. You won't win._ **

_Is that so? There's a lot of stubborn in the Winchester genes. And I should know._

There was a momentary flare of memory, of Dean's mother, of flames -

**_You son of a bitch!_ **

"Dean?"

Dean snapped out of it and looked up to see the serene blue of Castiel's eyes.

"Is something wrong?"

_Go ahead. Tell him. See if he likes you so much then. I mean, your friends are right. You only just met, after all._

Dean shook his head, clamping his lips together.

"No," Dean lied. "I'm fine."

He tried to ignore the way the thing laughed inside him.

**_You keep laughing. I'll find a way to kill you._ **

_Good luck, Dean Winchester._

***

The night wore on and everyone eventually headed to bed. 

Castiel stood watch by the door.

"Can you, uh," Dean stammered. "Sense it? Will you know if it's coming?"

Castiel shook his head.

"Unfortunately it's only obvious when it's spreading, so to speak," said Castiel. "Not so much once it infects a host."

"A host?" Dean hazarded, searching for all the information he could get.

_That's right, sweetheart. He can't sense me. So he can't save you. But all it would take is a few words from those pretty lips._

_If you're willing to lose your shot with the angel, that is._

Dean, stubborn, remained silent.

_That's what I thought._

"The creature is from the Pit," Castiel explained. "It chooses a vulnerable host. Finds a break in the armor."

"What kind of break?" asked Dean. Castiel looked at him curiously. He narrowed his eyes.

"Why do you want to know?"

"Just curious."

Castiel gave him a long look and then relented.

"Anything that might cause emotional distress," said Castiel. "Is there something you want to tell me, Dean?"

**_More than anything._ **

_But you won't._

_Coward._

"No, I'm good," said Dean. "You want company or what? I was thinkin' about headin' to bed."

"Go ahead," said Castiel. "You'll need your rest for the race tomorrow."

"Good night," said Dean, and couldn't resist a soft kiss on Castiel's cheek, which made the corners of his mouth turn up in a slight smile.

_Enjoy it while it lasts, Winchester._

Then Dean made himself scarce, because he wasn't about to do anything with Castiel while he had an audience riding piggyback.

_Aw. He doesn't want to lose his angel, and has decided to damn his friends._

**_You shut the hell up. I'm gonna find a way to get rid of you on my own._ **

_Game on, Winchester._

Dean slid into bed.

No matter how hard or how long he listened, he didn't hear the voice again that night.

By the time he drifted off to sleep, he thought he might have dreamed it.


	9. Literature

It was around midnight when Dean got up to get a drink of water.

He tested his mind and felt nothing. Maybe the thing would leave him alone for a while, let him think about how he might be able to defeat it.

He picked his way carefully through the living room where everyone was sleeping.

Then he noticed that Pippi's red sleeping bag was empty.

"Pip?" he whispered, peering into the darkness. "Pippi?"

He searched the house high and low. Even went outside into the heat, only to be met by a yardful of cars and no Pippi.

And Castiel, stalking out of the darkness like a horror-movie monster.

Dean might have been scared, if he hadn't known better.

"Dean?" asked Castiel, puzzled. "What are you doing up?"

"It's Pip," said Dean. "She's missing."

"Your friends are -"

_What friends, Dean? All of your friends are dead._

Dean started, as he looked at all the sleeping bags. His friends were slaughtered, bloody - there was blood everywhere, the sofa, soaking into the white-shag rug his mother had put in despite his father's arguments -

He blinked.

His friends were all sleeping peacefully, apart from Pippi, whose sleeping bag remained empty.

"Dean?"

Dean looked at Castiel, who was really giving him a strange look now.

"I'm gonna run to the bathroom," said Dean. "Be right back, and then we can look for her together."

Castiel nodded.

"I'll just wait here then."

Dean made his escape and yanked open the bathroom door with more force than necessary and nearly face-planted into the mirror in his horror and haste.

_Look at you. Freak._

**_Shut up._ **

Strangely, the voice fell silent.

Dean sighed and turned on the taps, splashing water on his face.

Then he noticed something strange and dark gray on his arm, just where his elbow bent, above the joint.

"What the hell?" he said out loud, and lifted his arm to look at it in the mirror.

_Not long now. Any last words?_

Dean stared at the fungus in horror, growing on his skin.

But that wasn't the worst thing.

The worst thing was that upon the sight of it, he started to feel hungry.

***

Dean left the washroom and made a beeline for Castiel.

He tapped the angel on the shoulder and raised a finger to his lips.

Then he lifted his elbow to show Castiel.

The angel blanched and indicated they should go outside where no one could hear them.

"Just what did you think you'd gain in hiding this from me, Dean Winchester?" Castiel demanded.

"How did you know -"

"This fungus has an incubation period. There wouldn't be growth like this if you hadn't already been infected. How long?"

"I don't know," Dean admitted.

"Are you hearing voices?"

Ashamed, Dean dropped his head in a miserable nod.

_Too late. Feeling a little peckish, Dean?_

_You know what they say._

_How long could a man stay alive on a desert island?_

_Depends how badly they want to survive._

***

"First we find your friend," said Castiel. "And then we deal with you."

The way he'd said it, Dean wasn't sure if that meant _get rid of the parasite_ or _kill you dead._

He followed in the wake of Castiel's trenchcoat, hoping it wasn't the latter.

"Dean?"

"French!" said Dean, grateful to see a friend. "What the hell are you doing up?"

"Could ask you the same thing," said French, dropping his cigarette on the ground and stepping on it, stubbing it out. "You and your freaky angel pal here."

"Pippi's missing," Dean explained. "You seen her?"

"Nah," said French. "But I'll help you look. Everybody else in there?"

"Yeah, all accounted for."

They walked together in silence for a while, around the house and then the neighborhood.

"You know," said French at length. Dean glanced at him, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"What?"

"Well, I read some racist books," he said slowly. "There's one - I mean, just that old casual racism, really, but it's a bestseller. It's called _And Then There Were None,_ by Agatha Christie."

"That stuff will rot your brain, French," said Dean.

"You think so? Wait til you find out the original title," said French. "Anyway, it's a story about a bunch of people on this island. Ten people, just like us. And they all get accused of a crime. Some of 'em can't get over the guilt, some of 'em start gettin' murdered one by one. Hell of a twist ending, too."

"You sayin' you think somethin' like that's gonna happen here?" asked Dean.

French shrugged.

"Dunno," he said. "It's just...there's things happenin' here that are like, some of the horror greats, y'know? Like the whole _Colour Out of Space_ thing in my basement. And Pippi disappearing, and there are ten of us - "

"And how you drive the exact same car from _Christine,_ " said Dean.

French peered at him curiously.

" _Christine_?" he asked. "I read a lot, but I ain't heard of that one."

"C'mon," said Dean. "Stephen King? Really? I thought you were into all that horror stuff."

French was staring at Dean like he'd never seen him before.

"I've never heard that name in my life."

Dean stared back.

He searched his memory.

"I..." he said, confused. "Neither have I. Don't know where that came from."

"Quiet, the two of you," said Castiel. "I think I hear something."

They were silent, the strange conversation forgotten.

Castiel was right.

Faintly, from somewhere ahead of them in the dark, they could hear the light, singsong sound. 

Dean felt every hair on the back of his neck raise. He exchanged glances with French, whose mouth was in a tight line.

"Cas," he said, with a fine tremor in his voice. "Don't."

But Castiel had disappeared into the dark.


	10. Monsters

The singing abruptly cut off.

"Cas?" Dean ventured. Then he hissed: "Cas!"

There was no reply.

He and French looked at each other.

A scream split the night from behind them.

Dean, torn between going after Castiel and running back to the house, was frozen.

"C'mon!" French said, taking off, "If he's an angel, he can take care of himself!"

Dean had to admit he had a point. They ran back to the house together under a gray sky that looked as if it was getting closer, somehow.

"In horror movies, only one person usually survives the night."

"Thanks for that, French. Gives a guy a real sense of security."

"Just sayin'."

They ran through the back door to find everyone awake in the living room.

"What happened?" Dean asked. "We heard a scream."

"Count 'em," French murmured.

Dean saw Sammy rubbing his eyes sleepily. Fish and Marlin nervously holding hands in the corner. Cheese smoking a cigarette next to the door. Johnny Two-trees was sitting up in his sleeping bag -

"Where's Babs?" Dean asked.

"Don't know," said Cheese. "We woke up when we heard the scream."

"Pippi's missing too."

"And where's the new guy?" asked Marlin.

"Out lookin' for Pip."

"Ain't you kinda suspicious?" asked Fish. "I mean, the stuff at French's house and now this? All happened after the new guy joined up."

"He's an angel," Dean persisted.

"He might just be saying that," Fish pointed out. "You don't know."

"Actually, Fish, I do," said Dean, and then detailed his encounters with Castiel, curtailing the detail he had given French.

They all stared owlishly at him. Sammy especially, and Dean hated that the most.

"So if you're gonna be judgemental, judge away," said Dean. "But if you wanna figure this out then we're gonna have to trust each other."

Cheese was staring at Dean like he had a hole in his head.

"We gonna have a problem, Cheese?" Dean demanded. Cheese shook his head, but just kept on staring.

"Stick together," said Dean. 

_And don't fall asleep._

"And don't fall asleep," he added.

**_Mind explaining yourself?_ **

_Just a friendly warning. Helpful, you know._

_**Why the hell would you want to help me?** _

_Why would I kill the host?_

_After all, I live here, too._

If Dean had been scared when they were outside, now he was terrified.

His friends were now in a nervous circle, talking with each other.

Cheese approached him. Dean tensed up.

"What?" Dean asked, his bluster covering the real fear that threatened to rise up and throttle him.

"I, uh, just wanted to say," Cheese said, under his breath in a voice so low Dean almost couldn't hear him. "Me, too."

Dean gave him a puzzled look.

Then he saw Cheese throw a look of longing toward Johnny Two-trees and his jaw dropped.

"Oh," said Dean. " _Oh._ "

"Yeah," said Cheese softly. "So. You know. You need anything, Winchester, just. I'm around."

Dean regarded Cheese in an entirely new light.

"Thanks, Cheese," he said. "And, uh. Same to you."

Cheese nodded, and went back to smoking by the open door.

He looked up from lighting his cigarette, blowing smoke out of his mouth as he said:

"Fog's comin' in."

Fish looked up from her place in Marlin's lap.

"What?" she asked. "No, it can't be. The weather pattern's all wrong."

"Fish, the weather patterns around here ain't been right for a while," said Dean.

Fish disengaged from Marlin to join Cheese at the door.

"He's right," she said. "Looks like it's gonna be what the old-timers called a _pea souper._ "

"What old-timers?" asked Johnny. "We live in Kansas, not Maine."

Fish paused.

"You know, I don't know," she said. "I'm sure I heard it somewhere."

They all crowded around the door.

Sure enough, a fog thick as mud was rolling in, blanking out the neighborhood. 

It made Dean feel strange, like he was missing one of his senses.

_Don't worry. I'll see for you._

Dean studiously ignored the voice.

"Castiel's still out there," he said finally.

"Pip too," said Fish. "And who knows what happened to Babs?"

"Dean," said a voice at his elbow, and Dean turned to see Sammy standing beside him. "I'm scared."

"It's okay, Sammy," Dean said. "Nothin' to be scared of. Just weird weather."

_Hm. And I thought you were past that._

_**Past what?** _

_Lying to your little brother._

***

"Dean. Can I talk to you a sec?"

Dean went to join French in the kitchen.

"What's up?"

"Where are the bodies?"

Dean blinked at him.

"What?"

"If this is a horror, or murder mystery, or whatever," said French. "Where are the bodies? You know what I mean? Somebody should've found something by now."

"That's morbid, French."

"Not if we're living in a horror movie," said French. 

"Most people in a horror movie don't know it."

"Well, we're self-aware characters."

"So, what? You wanna find Pip in pieces and bloody somewhere?" asked Dean.

"No! Of course not. It's just. Weird. No bodies. They just - "

"Vanished," Dean finished. French nodded. "There's something else, too."

He showed French the encroaching moss growing on his arm. It had spread.

French recoiled.

"What the - Dean! Keep that away from me."

_You can tell him to relax. Once we find a host, that's it._

_**That's reassuring.** _

_Thank you, I thought so too._

"It says it only needs one host," said Dean.

" _It says_?" asked French, horrified. Dean shrugged.

"Figure there's enough crazy going on this is just another part of it," he said. "You know of any books about that?"

French relaxed - a little.

"As a matter of fact, I do," said French. "There's an old story, _The Voice in the Night_. This guy and his fianceé are stranded on an island. There were other people there, too. But they started turning into this gray fungus."

"Like what Marlin said about kudzu," said Dean.

"Yeah, exactly," said French. "But in the story, he said they got an irresistible urge to eat the fungus."

Dean stared at him.

"What happened to them?"

"The story doesn't really say," said French. "But the sailors he's talking to only see him in the first light of morning, and he didn't even look human anymore."

French stared hard at Dean.

"Tell me," he said. "Have you been feeling hungry?"

Dean opened his mouth to answer when there was a loud commotion from the living room.

"What is it?" Dean asked. "What happened?"

"It's Johnny," said Fish in a tight voice. "He came up to the door, and then said he saw Babs out there in the fog."

"I tried to stop him," said Cheese. "But he's a big guy, you know."

Dean stared out the window. The fog was now up against it like a lover.

"And then there were six," said French.


	11. The Kitchen

"Are we gonna make it to sunrise?" Dean whispered urgently to French.

"Depends on the story. Sometimes sunrise is all you need."

"What about the other stories?"

"From what I've read, anything goes."

"I wanna help."

Dean squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. He looked down at his little brother.

"No, Sammy. It's dangerous."

But Sam's face had that set pout, that stubborn lower lip sticking out, that Dean knew all too well.

"You just said there was nothin' to be scared of but you're in here talkin' to French about horror movies."

Dean sighed. He sensed a headache coming on.

"I'm not a kid anymore, Dean. Stop treating me like I'm made of glass. I'm not stupid."

"I know that," said Dean.

" _And_ I know about horror movies. And books."

"Dad lets you watch that stuff?"

"Do you always ask for Dad's permission?"

"Where is he, anyway?" asked Dean. 

Sammy just gave him a look, and Dean read quite a lot in it. He might not read books as much as French or his little brother, but Dean could read people, especially Sammy.

"Okay, Sammy," he said. "Two nerd-heads are better than one, I guess."

"It's _Sam_ ," he corrected sourly. He turned to French. "Let's go over what we know."

Dean stood there watching as his little brother seemed to transform from a kid to a grown adult right before his eyes. Oh, sure, he knew Sam was older, it was just that he'd always seen him as his little brother. Maybe he always would. He'd read somewhere that parents see their children as the children they were forever, and he was closer to a father to Sam than a brother, though he wouldn't like to admit it out loud.

_Aw, that's sweet, Dean. Maybe there's hope for the two of you after all._

_I mean, as long as you don't throw it all away for that slice of angel food cake._

_**Shut up.** _

_Eloquent as always._

Dean's entire arm itched now. He thought of what French had said about the story he'd read, and wondered how long he had.

_If I told you, then it wouldn't be a surprise._

Dean gritted his teeth, and then he heard the kitchen door slam.

"Now what?" he asked aloud. 

No one else moved a muscle. They were all frozen to the spot. Dean sighed.

He walked into the kitchen.

Standing there, in the dark, slightly illuminated by the dim gray light in the window, was Pippi.

"Pip!" Dean exclaimed. "Oh, thank God, we were -"

There was a hand on his arm. It was Sammy - _Sam._

Sam shook his head.

Pippi looked up. She smiled a rictus grin.

"What are you _wearing -_ " Dean couldn't help but exclaim, because Pippi's hair was perfectly styled, and she wore a strange ruffled housedress that Dean had only seen sometimes on old ladies.

Pippi flicked the light on. Somehow this made it worse. Her grin was plastered there like someone had put a sticker of a smile that was just a little too wide across her mouth.

"Would you like some coffee?" she asked, in a familiar singsong that Dean recognized from the voice they had heard in the dark - the irony of which had not passed him by.

"Pip?" Dean said, and Sam lunged at her with a knife, burying it in her stomach.

"Sam!" Dean roared. "What the hell?"

Pippi's smile weakened and vanished. Her mouth hung open crazily.

No blood emerged from the wound, and Pippi didn't bother to pull out the knife.

"How could you do that to me?" she said, in that same weird singsong. "I thought we were friends."

Sam nodded toward Pippi, who was now walking around in a circle, glitching and jerking, opening and closing cupboard doors. She reached into the cupboard and took a scoop of coffee, then poured it on the floor. She repeated the same actions over and over again, all the while saying:

"How could you do that to me? I thought we were friends. I thought we were friends. I thought we were -"

Sam gently herded Dean and French out of the kitchen and closed the door. He locked it, and slid a chair beneath the knob.

Then he turned to them and said:

"Yeah. You guys need me."


	12. The Rain

"What the _fuck,_ Sam!" Dean shouted. "You stabbed Pip! How the hell did you know it wasn't her?"

"It's from _The Stepford Wives,_ " Sam explained. "They replace women with robots. It's about sexism and the patriarchy."

"The what?" asked Dean. Sam sighed a familiar long-suffering sigh. So Dean tuned out.

And when he went to join the others in the living room instead, he stopped and stared out the sliding-glass door from the living room.

Castiel was standing out there.

His head was tilted strangely.

He was grinning. Like Pip had been.

_Sometimes, they come back...wrong._

Dean could no longer tell whether it was the creature inside him talking or his own mind.

But it rang a bell.

And he felt inexplicably drawn to the door, to outside.

"No," said Cheese, who tried to restrain him.

"Cas is out there," Dean insisted. "You gotta let me go."

"Dean, snap out of it!" Cheese yelled into his ear. "Didn't you see what just happened to Johnny?"

"I ain't Johnny," said Dean, confident. He was part-monster now, after all. "I'm different."

"The hell you are," said Fish. "We gonna have to tie him to a chair or somethin'?"

Suddenly, Castiel vanished. The magnetic pull Dean felt toward the image in the fog vanished, and he almost fell forward with the loss of it.

"Dean!" Sam shouted, and ran to his side with French.

"Cas is out there, Sammy," Dean said, heart in his throat.

Sam dragged him away from the door. French followed, while Fish and Marlin stayed behind, wrapped up in each other.

"You gotta snap out of it, Dean, or it's gonna eat you too!"

"I doubt it," said French.

"What?"

"Somethin' else is eating him."

Sam's gaze swung back to Dean, questioning. Dean rolled his eyes and slid his arm out of his sleeve. Sam made a revolted noise and backed away.

At the first sight of the moss, Dean was ravenous.

"That's just like -"

" _Voice in the Night,_ yeah," said French. "Started at my place, don't know how he got it. Apparently it ain't contagious. It's got him."

Sam stared at Dean in horror, but Dean was having a hard time holding his gaze. His eyes felt like they were being wrenched toward the moss.

Then, soft and quiet, the voice returned, as he stared down at the moss starting to cover the back of his hand:

_Ladyfingers they taste just like ladyfingers_

***

The dawn came, pale and watery.

The fog did not lift.

Their friends did not return.

"We still gotta race today," said Dean.

"Are you nuts?" asked French. "In the middle of all this?"

Dean nodded.

"Yeah," he said. "I got a feeling about it."

"Okay," said French, though he was clearly doubtful.

Quiet and introspective, they all piled into their cars, and they headed toward Demon's Run.

***

The fog began to dissipate as they approached the section of road they'd be racing on.

Up ahead, they saw the out-of-towners clustered around their cars.

"Lotta fins," Dean observed to Sam, who was seated beside him in the Impala.

The out-of-towners had a clutch of classic beauties, all fifties fins-and-taillights. They looked up when they saw the Impala emerge from the fog.

Dean got out of the car first, and approached the guy who seemed to be the leader. He stuck out his hand.

The guy looked down at it, then up at him, and grinned around a toothpick in his teeth. He was dressed like a greaser, from the styled hair to the leather jacket and cuffed jeans.

"Sure are brave comin' out here in all this fog," he drawled.

"You're here."

"Sure am," he said, then leaned to the side and spit on the ground. "I ain't a coward."

"Likewise."

"Where's your friends? Thought you had a whole car club."

"Right behind me."

"You sure about that?"

Dean looked over his shoulder.

The fog swirled, silent behind him. No indication of French, or Fish and Marlin.

"Witches and weather," said the guy, smiling like he had a secret joke Dean didn't know. "Machines and books and horror movies. Tough chicks, guys with big hearts."

He clicked his tongue at Dean.

"You Winchesters. So damned predictable."

"Do I know you?"

"Nah," said the guy. "But I know you. You're famous, you and your brother."

Dean and Sam exchanged a look.

"Too bad, you know, about your friends," said a woman standing with the guy. "Lost out there in the fog. There could be bears out there, and other things."

"Yeah," agreed the guy. "And other things."

Dean stared at them hard.

The gears in his mind were turning now, and turning quick.

"You wanna drive or what?" challenged the guy.

The rest of them gathered closer.

"Give us a second."

Dean pulled Sam aside.

"I got a bad feeling about this," he said. Sam nodded.

"Me too."

"Question for you, Sammy," said Dean. "Do you recognize the name Stephen King?"

"Yeah, of course, why do you- " Sam stopped. "No, wait. I don't. I must have been mistaken."

Dean narrowed his eyes.

"Oh, we're mistaken, all right," said Dean. "How about that story, where Pip turned into a robot? What year did that movie come out?"

"1971."

Sam started, and stared at Dean.

"Wait a minute -"

"Exactly."

"Aw," said the guy, frowning in disappointment, his eyes rolling over black

_black eyes, like doll's eyes_

And that was when the Kansas sky above them finally opened, and poured, the rain hammering down onto them, to the cars and the street, soaking their clothes and running through the soles of their shoes, drowning, drowning, drowning the world in a flood.

Dean looked up and saw the grey sky crack fine like an egg at the edges, a slender bolt of lightning, until the sound of it cracking filled the whole world and he blacked out with the noise, the sound and fury, the sheer terror of the world eating its own.

***

"Dean."

Dean could sense a calm panic in the voice that spoke to him now, that beloved voice he would never admit to anyone was adored beyond reason. He swam towards the surface, but couldn't find it.

"Castiel," he said, inside his own mind. "I'm here, I'm alive. I can hear you."

But his voice made no sound.

He wondered if the moss had finally covered him whole. He wondered if, somehow, he had finally lost control and taken a bite out of it. 

He couldn't reach Cas, but he was comforted by his presence nearby in the dark. 

And he remembered.


	13. A Normal Life

_...even katydids can be supposed, by some, to dream._

Dean's eyelids were heavy. He felt like he had been hit by a truck.

He lifted his head, and instantly regretted it.

For the moment he had looked up, he had seen the dark hallways of a house.

But this time, he knew who he was.

Dean Winchester, hunter.

He was trapped, and when he found the monster responsible for this shitshow, they were gonna get it good.

Ignoring the implications of the angel-fueled blowjob that made up a part of the fantasy, Dean hauled himself to a seated position and fumbled in his pockets for something, _anything_ , that might help.

"Goddamnnit," he growled. "Show your face! You think this is funny? Trapping me in horror movies. Fuck you. I already get enough of that shit on the daily."

All he found in his pocket was a Zippo.

No Sam, no Cas, just this quiet house that seemed like it was biding its time.

_Silence lay steadily against the wood and stone ...and whatever walked there, walked alone._

"Shut up!" Dean barked at the invisible narrator. 

Then he remembered.

"This is _The Haunting of Hill House,_ " he said. "I just gotta get outside and past the gate -"

There was strange muttering coming from the shadowed wall in front of him, where the crenellated features began to look like eyes.

"Okay, I'm out," said Dean, and pushed himself to his feet, walking unsteadily down the hall and to the grand staircase.

He felt like he was drugged, like he had the worst hangover of his life. This was the hardest thing he'd ever done, and it was just putting one foot in front of the other.

As he walked, he considered the options. 

_Djinn dream. Angels. What other creatures can bend reality to their will?_

"I'm disappointed in you, Dean," said the narrator.

Dean scrabbled at his coat and yanked it up.

His skin was clean and smooth. No trace or evidence of fungus there at all.

"Where are you, you son of a bitch?!" roared Dean, and instantly regretted it. He grabbed his aching head and pushed the front door open. The hallways behind him filled with whispers, but to his surprise, they let him go.

Dean fell into the front yard, and suddenly the world was filled with light and green beauty the likes of which no earthly man had ever seen.

Sitting on a dais in front of him was a tall, beautiful man with a shock of long dark hair.

"Dean," he said warmly. "Welcome back."

***

Dean stared at the creature, which now calmly lifted a cup of tea and took a sip.

Dean's headache faded and he was surprised at his surroundings, a neat garden that reminded him of the Japanese koi ponds he had seen as a child. A soft breeze blew and the soothing sound of running water permeated the place.

Strangely, Dean felt all the events of the last few days slough away from him, as if that reality was just a dream - but also that every other reality apart from this one was dreamlike, insubstantial. Nothing was more real than this place.

"You don't remember me," said the man on the dais, setting the cup in its saucer. He stood, and Dean watched as he walked closer, white shift flowing behind him like water. "I'm hurt."

He took Dean's chin in his hand and made him look up into strange, alien eyes.

"It seems you have a taste for the supernatural," murmured the man. 

Dean managed to clench his jaw in rebellion.

"Yeah?" he spat. "And who the fuck are you? Must not have been that memorable if I can't remember you. Hell, I remember demon number 786 from the chorus line, but I ain't got a bead on you."

To Dean's surprise, the creature just smiled, as if he was a charming sort of pet.

"I've missed you, Dean," he said, dropping his hand in a soft caress as it left Dean's cheek. "You can't imagine how refreshing it is, someone who talks back."

"Yeah?" Dean said. "Then you're gonna love me."

"Oh, Dean. I already do."

The man's grin tilted a bit, along with his head. 

It reminded him of Cas. And Dean quashed that thought the moment he had it. Whatever was going on between him and Cas had nothing to do with this creature here.

"Ah, yes," said the man. "Your angel. As I said - it seems you have developed a taste for the supernatural. And the supernatural has developed a taste for you. I am proof of that myself."

"What the fuck does that mean?"

"We spent time together, you and I," said the man. "You truly don't remember?"

Dean shook his head.

"Dean," said the man, and Dean wished he'd stop saying his name like that - _tender_ , because that was how Cas said it. 

"I am Oberon, king of the Faeries."

***

Dean just stared at him.

"And?"

Oberon spread his hands.

"I must confess, I thought you would remember," he said. "We shared - things. Time, secrets. During your service."

Dean suddenly remembered Sam's derisive question - _did you service Oberon, king of the Faeries?_

"Bull," said Dean. Oberon shrugged.

"I cannot make you believe it, that is certain," said Oberon. "But it is true."

"So this is how you impress your dates?" Dean demanded. "Throw them into some twisted horror-film reality?"

"Oh, no," Oberon assured him. "Just you, Dean. I wanted to give you a normal life. It was my gift. I know the things you wish you had. The things you love - cars, hunting. Castiel."

"I don't - what?" asked Dean.

"You have no secrets from me here," said Oberon. "I confess that I was jealous, at first. But the real danger, when one is in love, is that sacrifices will be made to ensure the other's happiness - even at the risk of great pain to oneself."

"The angels are gonna raze this place to the ground," snarled Dean. "Cas is gonna - "

Oberon lifted a hand.

"This is where you are mistaken," he said. "Your brother's focus on study is truly commendable, and you might have found great benefit in it. Since you do not remember me, and apparently did not learn some key information that might have helped you, I will fill you in."

Dean tried to throw a punch, and found himself rooted to the spot. He swore in fury.

"Patience," said Oberon. "I will release you, at length. Once I am certain you are not a threat."

He paced back and forth in front of Dean.

"Once upon a time," he said, smiling, "and isn't it amusing to hear one of the Fae begin such a story?"

"Fucking hilarious," Dean said.

"The Fae were feared," Oberon continued, ignoring Dean's interruption. "People knew about iron and salt in those days. Not just hunters. Everyone. But what many have forgotten is that we are angels. Not evil enough for Hell, not good enough for Heaven. The fence-sitters, you might say. And nobody likes that."

He cupped a flower in his hand, caressing it.

"So we were cast down, just not as far," Oberon said. "Allowed to keep certain abilities, and to mingle with humanity. Of all three groups of angels, it is those who were sent to the middle realm and existed among you for centuries who know you best."

He turned to look at Dean.

"And what many of us felt was that Heaven was no reward," said Oberon. "Hell was cruel and baseless. Many of the same concerns and doubts you shared with me, when we were together."

"Sorry, pal," said Dean. "I don't believe you. There ain't no way I would _ever -_ "

"No?" said Oberon, his voice harsher now as he circled back toward Dean, closer this time. "You spilled everything to me, as one does in this place. Your love for that angel, your desire, your frustrated hopes, your belief that you could _never_ be enough for him, your doubts. And I, well. Much like this little charade, I gave you what you most wanted. When you asked, finally - because I, too, am an angel - for me to show you how you might please him, should it come to that."

Dean stared at the floor. He had never felt so exposed, and that included his time in Hell. He said nothing.

"It seems, Dean Winchester, that you have always had a thing for angels," Oberon murmured against his ear. "And in return, that angels have always had a thing for you."


	14. Dreams

_What kind of person wants a horror show as their real life? Sick freak._

"That's not the evil fungus talking, Dean," said Oberon softly. "It's you. That little voice in your head _hates_ you. It doesn't know what you're worth."

Oberon kissed the soft skin between Dean's ear and neck.

"Oh, but I do," he whispered. "I'll be anything you want, Dean. I'll make any world for you. And it wasn't only horror, you know. It was _having friends,_ living a normal life. Sammy, the smart little brother looking up to you. More classic cars than you could possibly know what to do with, and the most beautiful Midwestern summer, stretching out, taffy-sweet and perfect as you finally find the solution to all that yearning, silent and private, for the angel."

Oberon's smooth skin turned rough, and his voice changed to the thunder-on-gravel sound of that object of Dean's secret desire - 

"I can _be_ him, if you want," and oh God Dean couldn't help but react to that rumble rolling across his skin like a storm on the sea, it was out of his control.

"You're not him," Dean managed to say. "You'll never be him. You're less than half the angel he is."

Oberon snickered in Castiel's gutteral voice.

"Funny you should say that," he said. "Whenever Castiel is actually around, you treat him like he's an afterthought. Like garbage. As if you did not think, in your secret heart of hearts, how badly you want to get down on your knees and praise his holy being for the rest of your days, how the innate need inside of you thrums in desire to worship and to beg."

"Yeah, and how come Cas doesn't know all that?" Dean demanded. "If you're both angels."

Oberon gave him a sad look. It was odd on Castiel's features, bending them strangely.

"You really don't remember _anything,_ " he sighed. " _Please, Oberon, he'll never want me this way, never need me like I need him, if this is the only way I can - please._ "

"Doesn't sound like me," said Dean.

"That's the thing about Faerie," said Oberon. "You speak the truth of your heart. There is no subterfuge here. That's what makes it so dangerous. Beautiful monsters exposed, men who have a shell of goodness covering a hateful interior. Ugly, deformed souls with beauty that shines through despite their pain. 

"And then there was you, you Dean Winchester -

I had hoped to capture that intense love, need, that aching soul for myself. It is something, after all, for a fallen angel to be worshiped. We crave it, we need it. Castiel doesn't know how fortunate he is, and how foolish. If only I had the heart and soul of Dean Winchester, I could survive off the glow of that worship for the rest of time and never feel want again."

"Them's the breaks," said Dean. "Sorry, but I ain't interested. No matter what I said before."

"Are you certain?" asked Oberon, still staring at him in such a perfect approximation of Castiel's expression that Dean had to remind himself sternly _that's not Cas!_ "After all, you _have_ treated him terribly. Kicked him out, tried to murder his child, lied to him, put Sam above him, yourself above him, the world above him. Of course he couldn't believe that inside the secret soul of his chosen human, there is nothing more powerful than the simple desire to praise _Castiel,_ Angel of the Lord. But what Castiel doesn't know won't hurt him. And I can offer you _everything_ you have ever wanted, Dean."

Then he kissed Dean, slow and sweet.

_**That's not Cas** , _roared in his ears. 

But oh, how easy would it be to fall?

Then Dean felt a tremor. 

His ears pricked up, as he heard the beginning sounds of a whine in the air, and a sound like a freight train bearing down.

"You hear that?" asked Dean. "That's a reckoning."

Oberon shimmered, and dropped the Castiel mirage as he returned to the slight beauty he had been upon their meeting.

The world seemed to shake apart at the edges, shattering into pieces.

Dean found that he could move again. At the last moment, he threw his hands over his head and hit his knees, squeezing his eyes closed.

A screaming roar filled the world, and his senses. He could feel his ears bleeding, hot and running down the skin of his cheeks. He thought that he was going to come apart at the seams, his bones pulled dislocating out of every socket, his eyeballs pushing pressure at the lids. But he held on, and kept his head down, as long as he could, as he felt like he was going to be returned to individual atoms and scattered across the strange universe of Faerie.

Then it stopped, and the silence that rushed in to fill the world was louder still.

Tentatively, Dean raised his head.

The entire place, walls and floor, was covered with the bloody residue of Oberon.

Standing in the center of the room was Castiel, still clean, gazing with disdain at the walls.

"Don't touch my things."

Then he turned and offered a hand to help Dean stand up.

"Let's go home," Castiel ground out, and turned away again, trenchcoat swirling in his wake.

Wordless, Dean followed.


	15. Reap the Whirlwind

All the air went out of Dean as Castiel threw him up against the wall of the latest seedy motel. 

The hot curl of Castiel's voice, soft lips against his ear, would have made Dean breathless anyway.

"Is it true?" Castiel demanded. "Did you fornicate with that - that _creature_?"

Dean managed a sip of breath and croaked:

"Yeah. What's it to you?"

"I'm going to ask you another question," rumbled Castiel, slotting his body up against Dean's. "And I want you to tell me the truth."

"Shoot," said Dean.

"Did you wish me to mount you, Dean Winchester?" Castiel said, as if he were asking about the weather, but with a dark tone to his voice. 

Dean's eyes rolled back in his head with the tense need the words brought out in him. But he didn't respond.

"Do you wish me to mount you now?"

There was a moment hanging in the balance where Dean could have said something else. Anything else. Walked away with who he believed himself to be, with that wish still sitting at the tip of his tongue. A secret desire never uttered to anyone, until he had apparently confessed to Oberon. A desire he could have kept secret for all the rest of his days.

But Dean had wanted, so much for so long, there was only one answer he could give.

" _Yes,_ " Dean growled. "God damn it, Cas! Yes."

This must have been the sign Castiel had been waiting for.

Because Dean finally understood the phrase _when the levee breaks_ in ways he had never even comprehended before. 

"You fascinate me," Castiel said, yanking at Dean's belt and pulling his jeans down. "You infuriate me."

But Dean's attention was focused entirely on Castiel's proximity. He was going to get plowed by an angel in some shitty motel room off the I-90 and God, how Dean wanted it. If Castiel wanted it, he would beg.

"You don't need to beg," Castiel said, as if he had heard, "I can hear you, Dean. Your soul sings."

Castiel put his hand on Dean's bare ass, just held it there. Dean gave him a sidelong look as best he could from his position and saw that Castiel's eyes were shut, his mouth slightly open, as if this was getting to him just as much as it was Dean.

"Cas?" Dean asked. 

That seemed to snap him out of it, and Castiel let go of a harsh breath as he pressed the length of his cock up against Dean's ass, so that his entire body was held tight and taut against Dean.

"What's the holdup, old man?" Dean snarked, and suddenly he was naked, on the bed on all fours.

Dean looked over his shoulder in shock. Castiel gave him a nonchalant look, shucking off his trenchcoat, and then his suit jacket, folding them neatly over a chair.

Then he rolled up the sleeves of his button-down shirt, just above the elbows, and gave Dean a look that made his eyes so blue Dean could have sworn he could see Cas's grace glowing there. But no, it was just the natural brightness of his eyes brought on by fierce desire, alight beneath heavy brows.

Dean groaned. He knew that Castiel, ancient and eternal being, was going to make this last. He inwardly cursed his smart mouth.

He arched into the unexpected touch of Castiel's huge palm on his back, moaning in wanton delight.

"Oh, Dean," Castiel said softly, soft like the tread of a killer is soft, "angry, rebellious, beautiful Dean. What kind of trouble did you hope to be in with me, all these years?"

He raised his hand, trailing his fingers across Dean's heated skin.

"Is that why you have always provoked me?" Castiel wondered idly. "All you had to do was ask. But then, I expect, you might have found something other than the fury that would make you feel justified in the result, in my capitulation."

Castiel leaned down and spoke directly into Dean's ear.

"Unfortunately I am going to have to disappoint you," whispered Castiel. "You will get what you wanted, what _I_ have long wanted. But you will get it the way I wish to give it, and not in some kind of angry, violent claiming that will give you excuses."

"Maybe that's how I want it."

"I know you do," said Castiel. "But I won't let you belittle yourself that way, Dean."

"You don't want to claim me, after Oberon?"

The growl that emanated from Castiel at the mention of the name made Dean rejoice and shiver with want. 

"Oh," said Castiel, "do not misunderstand me, Dean Winchester. There will be _claiming_."

He smoothed his hands down Dean's back, up and over his ass, like he was planning to take his sweet time over this. Dean felt strangely exposed.

"You're _mine,_ Dean," said Castiel. "Do you understand that? Answer me."

"Y-yeah, Cas," Dean said, trembling. Why was he trembling? He hated himself.

"Shh, my love," said Castiel, stroking his back again. "And I am yours. I will never leave, Dean. Never. No matter how you shout and push and try to make me go."

Dean felt a tear threatening to fall. _No, damn it!_ he thought, but it fell, and he watched it drip onto the bedspread, a little black splotch he stared at and wondered what was happening to him.

Then Castiel was behind him, his fingers sliding inside, making space for himself, soft and sweet.

It was the sweetness, the delicate handling, that Dean couldn't understand. He'd expected something rough and fast, the kind of dirty fuck that matched their sorry lives. 

He had not expected anything like this, to be treated as precious, a treasure, _worthy._

Almost kindly, Castiel said:

"But you _are,_ Dean."

And he slid home, burying himself deep inside Dean, as Dean came with a shout on the first thrust from Castiel.

"M sorry," whispered Dean, mortified. "M' so sorry, Cas - "

"Hush, love," said Castiel, moving in him slowly. "It is only the beginning, after all."

And Castiel gathered him into his lap and made love to him, achingly slow and sweet, trading sloppy kisses with bared teeth in the intensity of the feeling. Dean was obsessed with the way Castiel's strong, thick thighs moved underneath him, pistoning up and down in a slow, controlled rhythm, as if he could do this forever.

Maybe he could. And didn't that thought have Dean near-swooning like someone out of a Victorian novel.

This was not the violent claiming Dean had expected, but the soft confidence of Castiel's claim made it feel hard and violent anyway. Dean felt stripped bare, exposed, made new, unable to hide himself from his angelic lover, whose cobalt gaze never faltered, even at the height of it.

He laid his hand over the old scar on Dean's shoulder, and Dean had the sense that he was making it anew, laying a new brand there.

One that read _Mine._

"She should not have touched you here," muttered Castiel. 

Dean gave him a puzzled look, and then remembered, _oh. Anna,_ out of the mists of time.

She had made so little an impression on him that he had long forgotten about her.

"Sorry you weren't my first," said Dean. "Or my second."

"Anna was human," Castiel said. "Oberon was Fae. Both former angels."

Castiel's gaze bored into Dean.

"I _am_ your first," he snarled. "And will be your last, as I branded you my own even then. A prideful moment, but one I do not regret. And on your ribs."

Dean must have looked surprised, because Castiel said:

"I might have taken some liberties with your markings."

"Oh yeah?" asked Dean. "What do they say?"

"They say," growled Castiel, " _Property of Castiel._ "

Castiel thrust into him hard then, a single, powerful thrust just to make the point, and Dean's brain short-circuited. Words were forgotten as Castiel took him apart.

Hours must have passed, and Castiel was still working him over, thrusting into him slowly. Dean had by this point forgotten the world, Oberon, the strange events of the last few days, even his own name, as Castiel moved in him, staring down into his eyes where he lay on the bed, claimed and conquered.

"Dean," Castiel whispered. "May I?"

Somehow, this question made its way through the soup of Dean's brain and he said:

"Uh?"

"May I touch your soul?"

Dean's eyebrows knitted together. He was soaked in sweat and sex and slick, and all he could do was nod _yes,_ for whatever reason Castiel needed. Maybe he wanted to power himself up to last for a week. At that point, Dean didn't really care, as long as things continued.

But Castiel's breath grew unsteady and his eyes closed, as if Dean's confirmation made him nearly lose control. 

Soft and careful, he pushed his hand deep inside of Dean, and within moments, he must have reached it because the room suddenly filled with a golden glow so bright it hurt Dean's eyes.

And Dean watched as Castiel catalogued his memories, from when it began - all those hurried, discreet quick jack-offs in gas station bathrooms with Castiel's name on his lips, first in shame and then later, bolder, even in the motel rooms, with the hint of wanting Castiel to catch him, wondering what he would do - the fantasies spun out, all the things Dean wanted to do to Castiel, and Castiel to him - and as Oberon had said, the simple, strange, and human _need_ Dean felt to worship him, the celestial being that was _Castiel_ , how badly he longed to be on his knees, to be called _good_.

He had long-forgotten his magazines, the porn, even hooking up with people at bars - but those stories had been mostly for Sammy's benefit anyway, so Dean could look like the cool big brother. He only had eyes for Castiel, and that had been the truth for years by now. He had often wondered if Castiel had noticed.

And beneath all that, all those memories and desires and hopes and moments of shared looks, grazed hands, friendly clasps of the shoulder, Dean and Castiel lying to each other, betraying each other, making up and talking, fighting side by side - 

and then, shameful and needful, Dean begging Oberon in a memory he did not have himself, pleading with him to look like Castiel, just so Dean could offer himself up as a sacrifice to the creature who had inspired him with faith -

for, to Dean Winchester, Castiel was a religion. _His_ religion. Not that he would ever admit to it out loud - but it was the truth.

Their entire history spooled out like the thread of a tapestry tugged on and unwound, and lying there in the center, glowing gold, was the simple truth of Dean's heart and soul:

_I love you, Castiel. Let me worship you until the end of my days.  
_

Dean watched in awe as Castiel threw his head back and blue light streamed from his mouth and his eyes. His hands clutched at Dean's body convulsively once, twice, and when Dean felt Castiel coming, he came with a wail of his own, and threw an arm over his eyes just as Castiel went supernova, the lights blew out, thunder cracked in the sky and the rain fell so hard against the windowpane Dean thought it might break, too.

Minutes later, maybe hours, Castiel returned to some semblance of himself. 

He looked down at Dean as if he had quite forgotten he was there.

"Are you all right?!" Castiel said, rising panic in his voice as he put his hands against Dean's cheeks, searching his eyes for any damage. "I forgot to tell you to close your eyes, Dean, I'm so sorry -"

Dean just wrapped a hand around Castiel's arm and offered up a lazy smile.

"'S ok, Cas," he said. "I remembered, an' I closed them."

"Oh, good," Castiel said, sighing. Then he snuggled up against Dean and looked likely to pass out.

"Hey, uh," said Dean, who was well aware that Castiel was still inside him, and still hard, if that were even possible. "You want to move or something?"

"No," said Castiel, and Dean grinned. 

They fell asleep that way, exhausted. 

Tomorrow could wait.


	16. Don't Worry, Baby

The diner had air conditioning, for which Dean was eternally grateful. It also had strawberry whipped cream pancakes, which he was currently putting away with a vigor that made Sam go a little green around the gills.

"It's all right, Sammy," said Dean. "I'm a growing boy."

"You're forty-two."

"Shut up."

Sam had filled him in on the situation. They'd been on a routine hunt, regular ghost salt-and-burn, when Dean had suddenly vanished from between Sam and Castiel.

"I suspected the Fae from the start," said Castiel. "They have a tendency to snatch people, as you may have heard."

"Cas didn't, uh," Dean said, wiping some whipped cream off his face, "fill you in on all the details, did he?"

Sam's answering smirk told him that oh yes he certainly did.

"You mean _servicing Oberon, king of the Faeries?_ " he asked, and then threw his head back and laughed.

"This is serious, Sam!" barked Castiel. "Your brother might have been killed. Or worse."

"Oh, believe me, I think he got it worse," said Sam.

And Dean didn't know what it was, exactly, but he loved seeing Sam's grin so much, how it lit up his whole face, so he didn't even push back.

"What, you're not gonna get all _I'm a real man, Sammy, I eat cheeseburgers and bacon and whisky_ ," Sam did an impression of Dean's growl. "Your voice never used to be like that, and I know you quit smoking, so why do you talk like that now anyway? You trying to out-gravel Cas, cause I assure you, that ain't gonna happen."

"Nothing you can say to me today is gonna bring me down, Sam," said Dean.

"Oh yeah? Why is that?" 

Dean turned to Castiel.

Somewhat shyly, he wound his fingers into Cas's, and held his hand.

Sam grinned at him.

The grin faltered as he realized by Dean and Cas's twin expressions that it wasn't a joke.

His face went from startled, to stunned, to constipated, to angry, to a sort of realization and understanding that dawned.

"That was quite a journey you just made with your face," said Dean, going back to his pancakes.

"But I!" Sam exclaimed. "And you!"

He threw his hands in the air as if let down by the English language.

"Get used to it, Sam," said Dean. "Apparently Cas is the possessive type."

"It's true," rumbled Castiel.

Sam rubbed his forehead.

"Okay," he said. "Letting go of that bombshell for a moment - and _God,_ how did I never _notice_ before? Now that I think of it, you guys stare at each other all the time - "

"Gotta hone those hunter instincts a little better, Sam," said Dean, popping a strawberry into his mouth.

Sam just glared at the both of them.

"Anyway," he said pointedly, "Oberon created a world for you, with friends and cars and horror mysteries?"

"And me," Castiel pointed out.

"Okay, not gonna touch that one," said Sam. "But - why? What would it benefit him?"

Dean shrugged.

"Apparently he wanted to woo me," he said.

"Strange way of going about it."

"There are many creatures that would do far more to woo Dean," intoned Castiel.

"Aw, thanks, sweetheart."

"I am not only referring to myself."

Now Dean gave Castiel a strange look. Then he grinned.

"Must be this sweet ass."

"It is indeed remarkable."

"Okay!" Sam said in a sharp tone. "Different motel rooms from now on, guys. But my point is - why wouldn't he create something perfect? Like, I don't know. Fame, riches. Something."

"Because those are not the things that make Dean happy," said Castiel. "Leather jackets, classic cars, vintage Americana. Having friends. Apparently a sexual relationship with me - "

Sam held up his hands in protest.

"And a good relationship with you," Castiel finished. "Not to mention that while you prefer research and you actively wanted to get out of the life, nothing makes Dean happier than hunting. Without it, he would be dissatisfied. Without mystery, without a fight, he wouldn't want a peaceful life."

"Never really have," said Dean.

"Wow," said Sam. "So that's really your ideal life?"

"I got most of it right here," said Dean.

He and Sam shared a smile.

"And I know it might not be forever," said Dean. "Hell, it might end tomorrow. But all that was an illusion. And no matter how hard it gets for us, no matter what we have to fight, whatever's comin' down that road next - I'd rather have the real thing any day. You remember when we were in TV land, and we got back?"

"We were relieved."

"Exactly," said Dean, finishing his pancakes and leaning back against the diner booth. "And honestly, despite everything that's gone wrong and right between us, there's nowhere else I'd rather be."

The jukebox at the other end of the diner started to play a familiar song.

It was _Don't Worry, Baby._

Dean grinned, and leaned in for a kiss, which Castiel happily obliged, and Sam made noises of protest.

But there, in that run-down diner, with the love of his life and his brother by his side, Dean Winchester was the richest of men.

Fantasy, or otherwise.


	17. Author's Note

I have loved horror movies and books since I was a kid. This story has several Easter eggs relating to various horror films and stories throughout. See if you caught all of them!

_The Haunting_

_The Haunting of Hill House_

_Sometimes They Come Back_

_Christine_

_The Voice in the Night_

_Stepford Wives_

_Survivor Type_

_And Then There Were None_ (has an unfortunately insanely racist original title, but is the best-selling mystery of all time)

_Colour Out of Space_

_War of the Worlds_

_Nightmare on Elm Street_

_The Fog/The Mist_

_The Gate_

_Rock N Roll Heaven_

_Jaws_

I also wanted to mention that the actress who plays Becky played Beverley in the 90s miniseries of Stephen King's _It._

I hope you enjoyed the story! Thanks for reading :)


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